One way or another, I’m not going to let uncertainty about Cookie reign over me, and I’ll find out how she feels before the day is done.
9
COOKIE
It’s Christmas morning.
I should be feeling a whole lot more peppy about everything. Everyone’s laughing, sipping cocoa. Dad’s already gotten into the eggnog.
I guess I should have been happy that Hood came for me and I could spend Christmas with my family. Rainier and his girlfriend didn’t make it, though – his cabin is pretty isolated and the snowmobile couldn’t make it up there to pick them up.
My heart isn’t with my family today, though. I just can’t get my mind off Baker.
I should have said something to him. Maybe I should have invited him over. He’s spending Christmas alone, after all, and no one should be alone on Christmas.
Instead I froze with indecision. Worries about what he’s hiding, if anything. About how he seems too good to be true.
I welcomed my brother’s heroic appearance as the perfect excuse to run away, and now I just feel empty and completely devoid of anything resembling Christmas cheer.
Seeing Mom and Dad look so happy together, it makes my heart throb for Baker. God, he seemed so hurt by my silence as I left too.
The lingering aches of everything we did still sit with me too, a constant reminder of the sheer joy that I felt with him.
“You okay there, semi-sweetheart?” my father asks as he comes up to the kitchen table and sets down his eggnog.
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“Are you now? You haven’t opened up any of your presents, and you’ve been sitting at this table brooding all morning. Not to mention the brooding you did last night during dinner.”
“Maybe I just need to brood.”
“You’re twenty, Cookie. Brooding and self-pity is for teenagers.”
“I never did it enough as a teenager so I’m making up for lost time.”
He takes a swig of the eggnog and laughs. “What’s the matter? Did something happen at Baker’s? Besides spraining your ankle and face planting in the snow, anyway.”
I twiddle my thumbs a bit. I feel embarrassed to even think about it. It makes me feel so incredibly childish.
“Come on, little girl. Tell me what happened. And I’m guessing it’s something good, because if he did anything to hurt you, you know me and your brothers would be heading over there right away to whip his ass.”
I shake my head instantly. “Whip his ass? Dad, no, it’s nothing like that. Baker did nothing wrong at all.”
“Then spill the beans, semi-sweetheart. What’s got you so down?”
I rub my temples. I ain’t getting out of this easily, am I? “I think I fell in love with him, Dad.”
He laughs his big, hearty belly laugh. “In just one day? I knew Baker Burns was charming, but that’s a hell of a thing to happen.”
I sink down, my head on the table. “You’re not making me feel better about this, Dad.”
“I’m not laughing at you, Cookie. It’s surprising, but then again I guess it’s not. Love is a weird thing, sweetie. It’s not something we can control. If you love him, then you love him.”
“It’s just been one day, though. You said it yourself, it’s a bit silly.”
“But you love him all the same. And if it’s got you broken up like this, I really think you need to go and tell him.”
His words carry weight with me, but I’m still so hesitant. “You don’t think it’s just some young, stupid crush? That he’ll think I’m some foolish little girl?”
“If he does? Then it’s not meant to be. Nothing’s an absolute, semi-sweetheart. You just need to follow your desires and hope everything works out. Maybe you’ll have your heart broken, but nothing will feel worse than not letting him know how you really feel.”
I smile. If I am being young and foolish? I might end up making a young and foolish mistake. When it comes to love, I can’t live in total fear of making a fool of myself.
“Go for what your heart wants, dear. I kept this farm going rather than sell when I inherited it, despite so much of the family telling me to sell. And following my heart has paid off, don’t you think?”
I smirk and nod. “I think so.”
“Then you need to do the same. Do what your heart wants, even if it disagrees with your brain.”
“I think my heart wants Baker, Dad.”
Dad lets out his distinctive belly laugh again as his gaze shifts. “And here comes an unfamiliar truck. I'm starting to think you’re going to get to tell him a lot sooner than you think.”
I stand up and scramble over to the kitchen window, which points out at our driveway. A truck is there, snow-covered but familiar to me. It’s the one I’ve seen many times before – in front of Baker’s house when there aren’t ten feet of snow everywhere. “I thought the weather was too harsh for trucks. I wouldn’t be here if Hood wasn’t stubborn and hadn’t used his snowmobile.”